


What’s Left of Me

by spilledinkwitch



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen, Not Beta Read, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-22 18:11:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15587769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spilledinkwitch/pseuds/spilledinkwitch
Summary: “You slaughtered a bunch of Wardens—a quarter of my regiment, to be exact—and murdered a group of templars along with them. Why would you do such a foolish thing?! And most importantly,how?”Warden-Commander Kiera Surana wants answers from the apostate that was once her companion.





	What’s Left of Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I wrote in 2012, roughly a year or so after Dragon Age II was released. It’s a little piece I wrote to allow myself an understanding of the relationship between Anders and one of my Wardens during the events of the game. Takes place approximately sometime during the second Act.

Anders took a drink from his tankard and sighed as he stared at the door of Varric’s room expectantly. Feeling a hand on his shoulder, he jumped, whirling around to face the person it belonged to.

“Geez, Blondie. Why so jumpy?”

It was the dwarf himself, grinning coolly at the startled apostate.

“Oh, Varric,” Anders said, taking one last swig. “It’s just you.”

“ _Just_ me? I’m hurt.” He pulled up a chair and sat next to him. “What’s gotten your robes all in a tussle this evening? Templars putting another annoying kink in your mage operations?”

“When are they not?” Anders placed the container down on the table. “But that is beside the point. I’m actually expecting … company.”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “Company, eh? The good kind, I hope.”

The mage let out a sigh, leaning back slightly in his chair. “Well, if it’s who I think it is, she won’t be happy with me.”

“Can’t imagine why.”

“Very funny.”

A crash sounded from the bar, and the voices of its patrons rose in an upset fervor. The two of them exchanged glances, fixed brief looks at the door—before sprinting for it.

“This your expected company, Blondie?” the rogue asked, brandishing his beloved Bianca.

Anders already had his staff at the ready. “I wouldn’t doubt that, actually.”

Upon entering the bar, they skidded to a halt and hovered near the door. A group of thugs stood in a circle in the center of the tavern, their voices raised to a drunken volume as they pointed and yelled at the person they had surrounded.

One of them—an imposing, yet bumbling oaf far past his tolerance limit—took a step closer to them. “What in the hell do ya think you’re doin’, you stupid fool?” he slurred.

Whoever was imprisoned in the makeshift cage said nothing, and the man let out an aggravated cry due to the silent treatment he received in response. The others backed away as he took an awkward, sloppy swing at the hooded stranger. As expected, he missed his target and stumbled forward, falling flat on his face—much to the amusement of the other patrons.

Immediately sensing the person underneath the disguise, the hairs on Anders’s neck stood on end. “That’s definitely her, Varric.”

The dwarf glimpsed at him quizzically, his gaze soon drawn back to the intoxicated brawl. “Someone I should know about?”

Nodding, Anders said, “Grey Warden-Commander Kiera Surana.”

Varric’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’re serious? From Ferelden, of Archdemon-slaying fame?”

“Would I lie about something like this?”

“I would hope not.”

“Exactly,” Anders said, gesturing to the scene before them. “Now watch.”

Another of the men that encircled Kiera jumped into the fray—though he missed the surmised Warden-Commander, as she had gracefully stepped out of the way of his attack. His velocity sent him crashing into the set of chairs nearby, before he found himself sprawled atop the accompanying table. A couple of the other thugs unsheathed their swords and pointed them at her.

“Alright, you bastard,” one said. “Playtime’s over!”

They both charged at her, but her only reaction was the simple, calm lift of her arm. She moved a hand in their direction as a faint ball of light materialized in her palm; despite this, they seemed unfazed by what they considered a menial display of power.

One of them—the leaner of the duo—had the gall to laugh. “You serious?!”

“Damned mages and their parlor tricks,” the other sneered, running toward her, sword tip aimed at her throat. “I’ll show you!”

The ball grew to roughly twenty times its size and shot out and around her, creating a seemingly impenetrable barrier. The man’s eyes widened as his blade bounced off the magical barricade, the weapon flying from his grasp before embedding itself into the wall a few feet from where Anders and Varric stood. In the split-second it took to lower her shield, Kiera had ducked and thrust out her leg, sweeping her other assaulter off his feet. He stumbled and fell backward onto his pathetic, drunken rear.

Even sober, he would have been hard-pressed to take on the one who had faced the Archdemon—and the one who lived to tell about it.

The Hanged Man was completely silent. Many a bystander’s mouth hung open in bewilderment. The men who had gathered to surround the Warden-Commander backed away and promptly ran outside, their tails between their legs.

“That was absolutely marvelous.” Isabela came forward from her place at the counter, clapping. “About time someone showed those idiots the door.”

The rest of the patrons looked to each other, their confusion soon replaced with awe as they joined the infamous raider in her praise of the mysterious stranger’s performance.

“Now that those pests are out of my hair,” Kiera began, pulling back her hood, “can someone tell me where a man named Anders is?”

“Over there,” Isabela answered, motioning to where the pair still stood. “Though I can’t say that I don’t feel disappointed you’re here for him and not me.”

“ _Thank you_ , Isabela,” Anders bit out as he made his way over to them. “You can return to your drinking and merrymaking any time now.”

She pouted and crossed her arms. “You are absolutely no fun.”

Kiera turned to face her fellow Warden. “Fancy meeting you here at this … cozy establishment.”

“I figured it would have been faster for you if I hung around here—no pun intended, of course.” He forced a smile.

“Right,” she said, scanning the area cautiously. “Is there somewhere more private where we can speak without company? Can’t afford any nosy ears eavesdropping on our conversation.”

A few catcalls and whistles came scattered from around the bar. Kiera rolled her eyes, shaking her head irritatedly in response to the immature behavior.

“Yes, let’s do that.” Anders looked to Varric. “I’m going back to my clinic. Thanks for keeping me company, short-lived as it was.”

“Not a problem, Blondie. And take it easy, would you? You’ve been looking more stressed than usual.”

Anders waved at him dismissively. “Yes, yes …” He glanced back at Kiera. “Shall we?”

The mage twosome departed in a hurry. Once outside, Kiera breathed a sigh of relief, thankful to be free of the stale stench of alcohol and underlying depravity. “Honestly, I can’t stand the smell of those places.”

“Understandable,” he said, leading her through Lowtown and toward Darktown where their destination was located. “But trust me on this: The Hanged Man smells heavenly compared to the place I’ve gotten myself holed up in.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Don’t tell me you live in a sewer or something.”

“Fine, I won’t.” He peered past a corner, making sure that there wasn’t any potential trouble lurking around the alleyways.

“Gods, Anders … How can you stand it?”

“It’s home, I suppose. Not like I have much of a choice.” He glimpsed at her. “Especially now. You know as much as anyone.”

She remained silent, breathing a soft sigh of pity instead as she was escorted by her fellow mage into his deceptive hideout. _Anders … What have you gotten yourself into this time …?_

He motioned to a room offset from the rest of the clinic. “This way,” he instructed. “We can talk here.”

She followed him through the doorway, and he shut the door once they were both safely inside.

Now, they were finally alone.

Ire lit up her features, and she turned to face him. “What in Andraste’s name were you _thinking_? Do you have any idea just how much trouble you’re in?!”

He knew what she spoke of, though he didn’t bother to defend himself.

She groaned in frustration and pushed him against the nearby wall, pinning him there; he didn’t care to resist. “You slaughtered a bunch of Wardens—a quarter of my regiment, to be exact—and murdered a group of templars along with them. Why would you do such a foolish thing?!” Her violet eyes darkened and narrowed in anger as she glared up at him. “And most importantly, _how_?”

“Kiera, I …”

She released her grip and took a step back, confusion overtaking her rage. “I … I don’t understand what’s going on with you.” Again, she felt like a fearful child, like back in the Circle. “There’s something different about you. I can feel it, this energy—no, _power_ —coming from you. It’s … frightening.”

Anders sighed, running his hand through his hair. “It’s Justice. He’s a friend,” he said, knowing full well that his former commander could sense the one he’d merged with not so long ago.

“A spirit?” She shook her head in disbelief. “No … You’re harboring a demon. Anders, how _could_ you?”

He swallowed, feeling Justice stir within him. “He offered to help.” His form flickered, an eerie blue hue coloring Anders’s skin and golden eyes.

“Help with _what_?” she asked, balling her fists in frustration and disappointment. “Corrupting your soul? This goes against everything you’ve—”

“ _Stupid woman!_ ”

A fraction of a moment later—and this time, Kiera found herself against the wall instead. Anders’s body pressed her there with a strength that was anything but human. Her eyes widened as an azure abyss gazed back at her, probing her, reaching into the very depths of her soul. She didn’t struggle, just allowed herself to be held there under the scrutiny of something that used to be her close companion.

“ _You are_ _a mage,_ ” Justice stated calmly. “ _Can you not empathize with our_ _cause? The templars and the Circle seek to destroy us, to cage us. Surely you would_ _—_ ”

“Seek vengeance?” She stared at him unflinchingly. “And we’d be murderers driven by fear—just the same as them.”

“ _Being a mage_ _should not be a crime._ ” His grip tightened; Kiera refused to wince. “ _To be persecuted and hunted down for simply being born_ _—_ _that will stop by our hands, even if it means tearing apart every single templar in Thedas. The Circle ends with us!_ ”

“You’ve changed, Anders.” She closed her eyes, blinking back tears as she remembered the young, frightened boy she’d befriended at Kinloch Hold. “I knew you held hatred in your heart, but I didn’t think you’d allow it to defile you so. Both you and the demon, you are—”

“Monster …”

Feeling Justice’s grasp loosen, she opened her eyes. Anders had fallen to the ground, hands covering his face, his knees on the floor in defeat. He felt ashamed and scared—scared that he could have harmed someone he cared for, and ashamed that he had lost control so easily.

Neither of them moved. They just stayed in place for longer than either of them were able to tell. One minute, ten minutes—time seemed to drag on forever, painfully so.

“Anders …” Kiera reached out to touch his shoulder, but the apostate pushed her away. She stiffened, shocked that he would actually do such a thing; they may have grown apart over the years, but they’d once been close growing up. Retracting her hand, she knelt beside him and said nothing. Just listened— _felt_ —his silent sobbing.

“I’m a monster,” he finally said, arms now at his side as he stared listlessly at the wooden floorboards. “An abomination. There’s nothing left of me—the true me. I’ve been twisted, corrupted, and—”

“I was wrong.” She gripped both of his shoulders. “What’s left of you—what you are, deep inside of you—is that same person that I confided in as a girl. The same one that crept into my dorm far past curfew, the very same child that snuck the two of us out to our secret spot by the lake. Remember?”

“I’m no longer the same man as I was, let alone a boy.”

“Anger, hatred, Justice … You will always be Anders—nothing will ever change that.” She rose, feeling her hardened heart fracture at the sight before her. “But maybe one day, you will be able to break free of the ties that bind you.”

He heard her walk away, the light padding slowly disappearing across the room. By the time he’d gathered the nerve to look up—to face her—she was already gone.

Anders stayed like that, staring into his empty, lonely surroundings until The Hanged Man cleared out and the drunken revelry ceased for the early morning. Until the blood stopped flowing to his legs and he could no longer feel them connected to his body.

Disconnection. That was precisely what he needed to do. Because what was left of him wasn’t Justice, or even Vengeance.

It was Anders— _he_ was Anders—and nothing would ever change that.

 

Footsteps echoed throughout the lively clinic.

Anders continued writing at his desk, waiting for the inevitable arrival of a familiar face. The steps came closer until they stopped abruptly by the door to his office. He looked up just as Hawke knocked and poked her head inside the doorway.

“You’re decent, I hope?”

He put on his best face, hoping that he’d be able to conceal the turmoil simmering inside of him. “If I weren’t, I would’ve had the sense to lock the door before engaging in any unscrupulous activities.”

She laughed, giving the mage a sly grin. “At least now I know what you’ve been up to during those long hours of the night.” She dragged a chair closer to him and sat. “What was it you wanted to discuss, by the way?”

He collected a few pages from his pile of notes, and looked at her, his features setting themselves into stone. As he explained why it was that he brought his friend of nearly a decade all the way down to his hideaway in Darktown, a dark voice tugged at his thoughts and echoed in his head.

_There can be no peace._

**Author's Note:**

> If you like what you read, please leave some kudos and/or comment to let me know! Constructive criticism is always welcome, so don’t be afraid to say what’s on your mind.


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